Small Packages
by Scribbler
Summary: Twenty drabbles in twenty days, featuring as much agonised romance, friendship, grief, angst and humour as possible. 15: Zack didn't really die on that cliff, although when faced with the alternative, he almost wishes he had.
1. Together

**Disclaimer****:** Challengingly not mine.

**A/N****:** Written for the challenge community _Fics 20 in 20_ on LiveJournal. I'm not an official competitor, since I missed the sign-up date, so this is just for fun. The premise is this: 'authors will write twenty stories in twenty days. Stories should be between one hundred and two hundred and fifty words in length, no more and no less. Each day will be assigned a theme or prompt for that day's drabble, and all drabbles must be finished by June 20th'.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Small Packages<strong>_

© Scribbler, June 2011.

* * *

><p><strong>1. Together<strong>

* * *

><p>He felt them playing at the edges of his consciousness. He could be doing anything and their presences would suddenly brush against him, like the swish of a lover's hair as they turned over in the dark. When he was cleaning his bike, he was suddenly hit by Zack's smile that time he made chilli and the pot exploded. When he was on the road, weaving in and out of traffic, he smelled lilies. Watching Tifa draw a line on the doorjamb above Denzel and Marlene's heads, he tasted sand and smelled cordite, the sound of Zack's panicky voice loud in his ears.<p>

_Forget the bad stuff, you idiot_, whispered that same voice. _You have it good now._

_But I don't want to lose you, _he thought back.

_You won't,_ she murmured. _We're not going anywhere._

_But you'd better, buddy. You deserve to move on and have a happy life. We'll be around._

_But –_

_Count on it._

"Cloud?" Tifa looked over at him, the pen still in her hand. "Why are you smiling like that?"

He shook his head. "No reason. I'm just happy."

_Glad to hear it._

* * *

><p>.<p> 


	2. Tomorrow

.

* * *

><p><strong>2. <strong>**Tomorrow**

* * *

><p>Zack poked disconsolately at dinner: baked beans again. Luckily (or was it unluckily?) this time the can also contained little cylinders of indefinable meat masquerading as sausages. The label called them 'bangers'. Did that mean they exploded when cooked?<p>

"So far so good," he said, tone light. "Just be ready to duck and cover if they start detonating."

Cloud never responded. That didn't matter. Coma victims sometimes woke years after falling unconscious, revealing to friends and family that they'd heard every word spoken to them during that lost time. Cloud was pretty out of it, but Zack stayed optimistic that someday he would yawn, stretch and say something self-effacing and Cloud-ish.

Even wanted men couldn't live on air, so Zack had done odd jobs on local farms and chocobo ranches to tide them over. Since they couldn't stay in one place too long, there was never much money for amenities. All of nature was their bathroom, and technically its bounty was their larder, but there was a lot to be said for food you didn't have to catch. His last boss had donated some cans as part-payment, hence the beans.

Zack sighed, hooking a twig through the hole he'd made in the side to lift the can out of the campfire. "Tomorrow, I'm going fishing. No offence, buddy, but all these beans are making you stink."

Cloud just stared blankly into the flames.


	3. Torn

.

* * *

><p><strong>3. <strong>**Torn**

* * *

><p>"Hold still."<p>

Zack tried, he really did. He could hold position in underbrush in a Wutaian warzone. He could keep still long enough for –

"Ow!"

"Big baby," Aerith laughed, patting his chest with her palm. "I said to hold still."

"I am holding still!"

"If you'd been holding still I wouldn't have stuck you. Now don't move. I've almost finished."

He sighed. This was humiliating. Also? A little bit of a turn-on, in a domestic kind of way. It had been years since anyone cared how his clothes looked unless he was on parade, or at one of those stuffy official ceremonies Shinra bigwigs insisted he attend. Usually Sephiroth overshadowed everyone at those events, which was fine with Zack. He liked attention, but not like that; on display, being judged and _scrutinised_ like meat on a butcher's window.

"There." Aerith bit off the thread. "No more unsightly rips. Honestly, how did you get a hole like that in your armpit?"

He inspected the invisible stitches. "Toxic sweat?"

"Ew!" She wrinkled her nose. "That's not nice."

Zack just grinned. "I have other rips that need sewing, too."

"What? Now steady on, I only offered to sew up that one because you were starting to look like a hobo."

"What if I said the rip involved me having to hand you my pants?"

She opened her mouth to speak. Paused. Closed it again and smiled. "I can work with that."


	4. Talk

.

* * *

><p><strong>4. Talk<strong>

* * *

><p>It took a while, but she was used to finding people who didn't want to be found. She was also used to interviews involving snapped fingers and broken kneecaps, but that wasn't necessary this time.<p>

She tried the rec-room first. He was sometimes there, shooting the breeze. Next she tried the gym. Usually it was full of sweaty men and easy banter – hardened warriors weren't above snapping butts with wet towels. That led her to the locker room, and some girly shrieking from the occupants. She checked the guard rota and records of day-passes into Midgar, but he wasn't logged. She even tried his quarters. He was rarely there. He hated being alone.

Finally providence answered. Reno passed her on his way to wash off blood and catch some zees.

"Think you might be interested in the roof, yo."

Reno was a jerk, a lech, a potty-mouth and a smartass, but he could be disturbingly perceptive. She hurried to the top of the residence-building, where nobody went unless dead pigeons had clogged the air-vents.

He balanced on the edge, legs drawn up and forehead on his knees. He could mash monsters without breaking a sweat, but he looked like a little kid. His shoulders shook. Everything screamed 'go away'.

"Hey."

He looked up. "Cissnei?"

She sat beside him, this boy-man who'd been forced to kill his mentor. He was obviously torturing himself. She'd predicted it when she heard. She didn't know what that was like. To her, killing was a necessary evil. Maybe that was why she liked Zack. He reminded her there were still good people in the world, even if they couldn't stay innocent forever.

"Wanna talk?"


	5. Tense

.

* * *

><p><strong>5. Tense<strong>

* * *

><p>Past. Present. Future. It was all the same here.<p>

If you looked down, you could see the ocean, balanced on a mountain, wrapped inside the cocoon of a butterfly. If you looked up you could see stars, strangling galaxies, choking on meteors.

You could see people scurrying like rats, rats scurrying amidst people. There were humans, beasts, plants, inanimate objects cursed to live among them like they weren't alive at all. Spirits raged and railed; loved and lost; expired and reincarnated as other things. Rabbits died, becoming meadows. Boulders shattered, becoming walls in a house. Seas ebbed and flowed, dried up and banished. Deserts shredded those who tried to live in them, then were beaten back by technology and the indomitable will to survive.

She saw a baby born in a cave to a primeval mother.

She saw an old couple clutching each other, convinced they were going to die as Meteor lit the sky.

She saw a warrior die on a cliff and the messenger who brought him home.

She saw a hero fall, betrayed by his father and two mothers until he faced a man he might have called friend in another life.

She saw the battle between Cetra and Jenova, and the bloody aftermath.

She saw herself, laid to rest in a lake that sat on the same spot millennia later.

She saw all this and more. Then it was whipped away on a current as green as the first bud and moss on an old gravestone. Time didn't matter so much anymore.

She smiled.

"Everything is all right."

Or was. Or would be.

It was all the same here.


	6. Angst

.

* * *

><p><strong>6. Angst<strong>

* * *

><p>Kunsel felt like he'd been hit with a sledgehammer.<p>

Actually, that was an understatement. Despite being only Second Class, he was still SOLDIER. A sledgehammer would break ribs, but he'd be able to get up and keep fighting. This… this had knocked the wind out of him. He literally found breathing diffcult.

"Happy now?"

"Why would this make me happy?"

The Turk glared.

Oh. Sarcasm. Usually he was better at telling.

He ran a hand over his helmet. Strange how some habits never left you. Few in Shinra knew more than the basics about him. Few ever asked. In the beginning, he wore the helmet as a test to see who would request to see what was underneath. Surprisingly few did. As long as he followed orders without question, nobody cared about the colour of his eyes or haircut.

Not strictly true. One person had badgered him to show himself. One person, out of all Shinra, had cared about the man under the armour.

And now he was dead.

He'd hoped… when he heard two test subjects had broken out of the facility near Nibelheim, where this whole sorry business started, Kunsel had hoped…

"_See you when you get back?"_

"_After I see my girl, buddy."_

"_Fine, fine, but you're buying the first round in the Goblin if you put me second to a piece of skirt."_

"_Deal. You'd look ugly in a skirt anyhow."_

The Turk with the red hair glowered at him. "I didn't have to tell you," she snapped. "But you were his friend."

"Yeah," Kunsel murmured. "Thanks."

Some friend. He'd let him down time and again.

As she walked away, Kunsel whispered to the empty air, "Sorry, Zack."


	7. After

.

* * *

><p><strong>7. After <strong>

* * *

><p>She fell to her knees, crushing a few flowers. For once she didn't care. She would later, but for now she was totally consumed by the sucking, clawing feeling in her chest. It felt like a small black hole had set up shop in her ribcage and was dragging her heart through it. Somewhere distant and airless, pieces were jettisoned like so much waste and dead meat.<p>

Zack was gone.

She knew it like she knew her own name. He had been alive, his presence brushing the edge of her senses, slightly more solid than a memory. It had been that way for so long. She had taken comfort from each tickle and looked forward to seeing him for real. She knew he was on his way.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, he was hurting more than he had in months. Then he was gone. She had no warning, no inkling that she was about to lose him for real. She searched frantically for any trace, but there was nothing. He was dead.

"No," she whispered, as if that would make any difference. "Please, no."

She stayed where she was for what seemed like hours. Her lower legs went numb. Her knees started to seize up. The broken floorboards at the edge of her flowerbed left indentations in her skin. Her rounded back ached. She didn't care about any of it. Nothing compared with the pain in her chest.

So this was what a broken heart felt like.


	8. Annoyed

.

* * *

><p><strong>8. Annoyed<strong>

* * *

><p>"Zack!" Red-faced, Cloud shoved open the door.<p>

Zack briefly wondered whether it was worth hiding behind his desk. When Cloud got that look, he was beyond peeved. He was positively… _annoyed_! For Cloud, that was quite a leap. Generally his emotions swung between nervous, respectful, terrified and embarrassed, depending on who he was with. Since he met Zack, he had started touching base with mortified and exasperated as well. Zack considered this a positive development. Cloud was wound too tight. It was good to let off steam.

"What is it?" he asked warily.

"You told Sephiroth we met when I crashed your helicopter!"

"We did."

"I… you…" Cloud spluttered. "You didn't have to _tell_ him!"

"What's the big deal?" Zack was genuinely puzzled. "He thought it was funny."

Cloud clasped both palms against his face and let out a muffled scream. "He probably thinks I'm some hick-town idiot who'd shoot himself with his own rifle if he ever fired it!"

"No, he thinks you're an up and coming warrior, because that's what I told him _after_ the helicopter story."

Hesitantly, Cloud lowered his hands. "You did?"

"Sure." Zack shrugged. "And I said it was a good thing you're on our side, because if you're crashing helicopters on your allies, who knows how much damage you'd do to your enemies."

Sephiroth's hair lifted in the draught when he opened his office door to investigate the commotion. He was just in time to see a pair of boots thundering around the corner and hear Zack's laugher fade away.

"What was all that about?"


	9. Apologise

.

* * *

><p><strong>9. Apologise<strong>

* * *

><p>Cloud held his stomach like he had been sliced in two and was stopping his top half from sliding off. Physical sensation had been back for a while – sore feet, stinging eyes, burning lungs – but actual thought took longer.<p>

His cheeks were wet. He was crying – or was it rain? His hair was wet too, but it didn't smell like water. How did he know what blood smelled like? Or cordite? How did he know anything?

Mud, blood and rain. Gunfire, splashing and the dull thud of a body hitting the ground. Someone talking. He knew the sounds were words, but they slid off like he had oily feathers that muffled the world. He fought to understand.

It would be so much easier to stay the way he was. Whatever was muffling the world was also a cushion. If he stopped fighting, he could be like he'd been for the past… year? Had it been that long? Whatever. Time didn't matter. Nothing could hurt him while he was like this –

No! This was important. He had to try! This was… was…

Reality detonated around him like a bomb. Waterlogged mud, acrid blood, sharp needles of rain in his upturned face. Gunfire echoed even though the shooters had departed. As for the splashing and thud, the body was already on the floor.

The body.

Zack.

Cloud screamed. It was his first conscious act in over a year. Then he bent almost double with grief, Buster Sword clattering from his grip as he whispered over and over.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry …"

Nobody heard him.


	10. Accuse

.

* * *

><p><strong>10.<strong>** Accuse**

* * *

><p>"You were in love with her." Tifa pressed her hand so hard against the tree it indented in her palm. She felt like it was the only thing propping her upright.<p>

Cloud said nothing. He didn't even turn around.

She bit her lip. The whole point of their complicated dance was that nobody came out and said what was going on. Now one dancer was missing, and the two who were left were stumbling without her.

"C-Cloud?" Tifa cleared her throat to force out the hesitancy in her voice.

He still didn't turn. It was difficult to tell if his shoulders raised. His strong back didn't look hunched, but what did she know? They'd been apart for years. How much did she actually know Cloud anymore? How much had she known in the first place, aside from his decency and that he would've done anything for her when they were kids.

They weren't kids anymore. To kids, dying meant shoving a wooden sword under your arm and falling into a complicated swoon until you got cramp and yelled to switch games. You could resurrect and become anything you wanted: master swordsman, circus acrobat, lion tamer, famous explorer, or whatever else you imagined.

Right now, Tifa would have settled for… well, anything but this. The lake lapped quietly at Cloud's feet. His pants were still soaked from wading into it.

"Cl-" she started.

"Tifa," he finally said, quietly but firmly. "Leave me alone."

She reeled, stung. Fresh hurt piled on top of her grief. He wasn't the only one who had lost something today. "All right," she snapped.

He stayed where he was as she fled.


	11. First Kiss

.

* * *

><p><strong>11. <strong>**First Kiss**

* * *

><p>"This was nice." Aerith scrunched up, encircling her knees with her arms. She wobbled precariously. "It was really… nice."<p>

Zack shook his head. "It was a disaster."

"It wasn't!"

"It was," he sighed.

It was supposed to be a romantic evening. He didn't get many nights off these days. The time he could get down to the slums was precious. He liked Aerith. She was sweet, funny, and didn't play games like other women he had dated. What you saw was what you got. That kind of honesty was refreshing.

Except when she lied to be polite. There was only one good restaurant in this sector. Zack had dressed in his best civvies and even brought her a gift before escorting her there. Unfortunately, dinner had turned into a nightmare when she asked about SOLDIER and a nearby couple overheard. Evidently Shinra was as popular down here as a fart in an elevator.

"You have to see these people every day," he said, remembering their rude comments and filthy looks.

"So?"

"So now it's going to be awkward for you. I'll understand if you don't want a third date." Maybe she could still salvage her reputation. Who needed a girlfriend, anyway? He'd be fine as a bachelor. Again.

She stared at him. After their adult dinner, they had taken refuge at the top of the penguin slide in the half-built playground. It wasn't at all romantic and offered little shelter, but at this time of night the place was empty.

"Look, Aerith – mmrf!" Zack's eyes widened as she suddenly grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him. He had to hold her shoulders to stop her falling right off the slide. When they broke apart, it was his turn to stare. "Um. Wow. So… is that a yes to a third date?"

She smiled. "Idiot."


	12. First Meeting

.

* * *

><p><strong>12. <strong>**First Meeting**

* * *

><p>Aerith peered at the man. He looked bad. Nobody could fall from that height without injury. Actually, nobody could fall from the church ceiling without <em>dying<em> – nobody normal.

His shoulder had been dislocated. A thin pool of blood spread under his left side from some hidden gash. Another red puddle leaked from his head; probably a cracked skull. His face was turned aside, giving her a profile view. Since he was on his back his face was undamaged. It had clean lines, youthful but not puppy-fat-pudgy. Her stomach churned at the mess that must be his underside, but approached anyway. He was still breathing. Maybe she could heal some damage, or at least take away pain if she couldn't save him.

He twitched.

She nearly leaped out of her skin.

His dislocated left arm spasmed. The action was followed by a groan. His breathing quickened, though he still didn't open his eyes. She knelt quickly. If he moved before she even _tried_ to help, he might do untold damage to –

As if on instinct, his right arm snaked over, gripped his left elbow and shoved the entire arm upwards. His shoulder slotted back into its socket with a sickening pop. She squeaked in alarm – who _was_ this guy?

His eyes snapped open. They were hard as marbles, but focused instantly and held no hint of wooziness. "Who are you?"

She gulped. "Um, Aerith."

He glared at her.

This wasn't how it went last time. She chastised herself, but her heart still sank. She, of all people, should've known you can't repeat the past. Even so, when he landed and she saw the SOLDIER uniform, she'd hoped…

He sat up, bloodstained but miraculously unhurt. "I'm Cloud Strife. Where the hell am I?"


	13. First Lie

.

* * *

><p><strong>13. <strong>**First Lie**

* * *

><p>Cissnei stared at the mirror. Her tie was off-centre. She adjusted it and ran a hand through her hair. The short spikes felt weird.<p>

She used to love her hair. Reno always said she was letting the side down by looking scruffy, which was a laugh since his bright red mullet looked like that of a low-cost rent boy. Rude had to hold him back when she used that word.

"It's not a mullet! It's a fuckin' ponytail, yo!"

"It's a mullet."

"C'mere and say that! Rude, y'bastard, lemme go!"

Rude, as ever, had held onto his partner and carted him off someplace to cool off and realise that bashing in colleagues' brains was a bad idea.

Colleagues. Was that how she saw them? The Turks were her workmates, plus a bit extra. The average office drone wouldn't put their life in the hands of the guy in the next cubicle. She trusted the Turks in the field – had for years, would today, probably would tomorrow if she survived today. 'Colleagues' was too little, but 'friends' was too much.

Thinking of these semantics took her mind places she didn't want it to go. She slapped a palm against the mirror. The sting hurt, but didn't distract her this time. She stared at her reflection, so changed from before. It had to be. Nothing in the rest of the world had changed, but everything was different now. She had to be different now. So she cut her hair, lending her face severe angles that had been softened before. She'd worn it long because she wanted to look feminine. Now, what was the point?

"I'm a Turk," she told her reflection. "And I don't care about one dead SOLDIER."

The mirror didn't believe it either.


	14. First Drink

.

* * *

><p><strong>14. First Drink<strong>

* * *

><p>On Fridays, Tifa never looked up when people entered the bar. The other days of the week she gave at least a precursory glance, sometimes a wave and always a smile. She hid suspicions behind her eyes, like all good barkeeps. There was no point in souring people before they'd even sat down. The regulars understood. Those who didn't learned fast. They also learned that just because she was built like a centrefold model didn't mean she couldn't break your nose.<p>

Fridays in most bars are the rowdiest night of the week. People collect their pay-cheques, and then roust and sing their way from exhaustion to oblivion, for tomorrow is Saturday and hangovers are something that happen to other people. In Seventh Heaven, things never got out of hand. There was singing and drinking, but Tifa never had to throw anybody out on a Friday.

On Fridays, tough-girl Tifa was afraid to keep looking at the door and seeing her regulars. She was afraid she couldn't keep everything behind her eyes. Only when a familiar black outfit settled on a stools, creaking leather and smelling of dirt and the open road, did she release a breath that could otherwise last all evening.

"The wanderer returns," she always said.

"Beer, please," he always replied. He once let slip that his super-fast metabolism, which let him heal from devastating wounds, also burnt off alcohol too fast for a proper buzz.

"I'll put it on your tab," she said without fail. He had never once paid his tab. She had never asked him to. "You look like you could use it."

"Thanks, Tifa."

"No problem, Cloud."

It was more longwinded than 'I love you' but it worked for them.


	15. First Sight

.

* * *

><p><strong>15. <strong>**First Sight**

* * *

><p>Zack was aware of floating. It was a familiar sensation. His brain seemed disconnected from the rest of him, otherwise he would have fought it. He was done with the whole floating thing. He liked using his own feet again. He also liked real food, not receiving nutrition through a tube, but the not-quite-gagging in his throat told him that wasn't an option either.<p>

_No… not again…_

His thoughts floated too. Random images drifted like part of a really annoying screensaver on a computer left untended for too long. He saw flashes of things he knew from their year on the run – eating beans from the can; riding with chocobo-ranchers; stashing Cloud behind rocks; facing what seemed like the entire Shinra army; practising _kata_ in the bright morning sunshine. He simultaneously smelled the mountain air, felt his sword in his hands and tasted the metal of the bean-can.

"_Gotta be careful we don't get sick from this stuff, Cloud. Hey, remember that time I took you out for drinks and you threw up into a plant-pot? I can't believe you fell for that old 'it's really mild, so you can have as many as you want' trick."_

Sometimes the memories seemed realer than the floating. Or maybe he was just rejecting reality and replacing it with a more attractive alternative.

"_You're the proof that I lived… my living legacy…"_

He woke occasionally, when something pawed at his neck, back or chest.

"_Those bullets __must be removed __**carefully**__. Try not to damage him further, you idiots!"_

The cold sting of metal stabbed regularly. Oh yeah, he remembered needles and tweezers, peeling back his skin so Hojo could peek at what his internal organs were like after pickling in mako for six months. He definitly didn't miss _that_.

_Bastard. __Ow!_

Summoning the willpower that had kept him carrying Cloud's dead weight even when his feet were sore, his belly empty and muscles screaming with fatigue, Zack forced his eyelids open and his brain to concentrate – and wished he hadn't.

Hojo smiled up at the tube of bubbling green mako. "Welcome back, Z."


End file.
